An excerpt in W.H Auden's 'Funeral Blues' goes like this -

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

I like it. There is a sense of loss and despair, yet being so resolute at the same time. I like the way beauty (moon, stars) is being constrasted with such a firm, resolute tone. It does not kill the sentimentality of the poem, but gives it a realistic twist. There is a sense of weariness, like Auden's been through a lot, and seen too much to be too mushy. It's like Auden knew that there is no use dragging the pain, it's better to let it all end now.